


The Strange and Wondrous Gift of the White Stag

by titania522



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Challenge: Everlark Week, Drama, Gen, PiP - Freeform, Prompts in Panem, Romance, everlark, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titania522/pseuds/titania522
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All journeys must come to an end.  However, Katniss gets a gift she least expects.  Written for Prompts in Panem: Everlark During the Holidays</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Strange and Wondrous Gift of the White Stag

**_This is my winter song._ **

**_December never felt so wrong,_ **

**_Cause you're not where you belong_ **

**_Inside my arms_ **

 

**_I still believe in summer days,_ **

**_The seasons always change_ **

**_And life will find a way._ **

**_I'll be your harvester of light_ **

**_And send it out tonight_ **

**_So we can start again..._ **

 

**_from Winter Song by Sara Bareilles_ **

 

He’d seen many winters in his long life but this was the coldest one Peeta had ever experienced.  The snow drifts were high on both sides of the paved road where the snow plows had tried to clear a path through after yesterday’s snowstorm.  His measure of the season was always the degree to which he felt the aching of his missing limb, the cold assaulting the absent leg in a way it never could his other, intact leg. This strange sensitivity in his phantom limb had long ceased to amaze him as it had in his youth, where in the twilight of waking, he would swear that piece had not been stolen from him.

 

Katniss came in from checking her traps and snares just as he pulled out the warm loaf from the oven.  Despite the tragedies that she had seen in her youth, life had been kind to her.  After surviving two Games, a Revolution and the death of her beloved sister, life had taken a turn towards tranquility, the quotidian mundanity of her days a welcome respite from the horrors that had almost exceeded the limits of her will to live.

 

“You won’t believe what I saw in the woods today.” she said in a husky voice, raspy from cold and age as she set down the few rabbits she’d caught in her snares.  Even now that she was afflicted with the discomforts of old age, she could still sit for hours at a time, waiting for prey, taking in the view of her childhood woods, listening to the whisper of the winter wind, the delicate rustling of leaves against the bare trees.  At this time of her life, climbing trees was becoming a rare treat she engaged in with aching slowness, yet she never lost the ability to be alone, in complete isolation from anyone or anything but the woods to keep her company.

 

“What did you see?” asked Peeta as he limped slowly to the cooling rack and set the loaf on it.

 

“A white stag.” She replied almost reverently.  She paused for a moment to push away the wisps of grey hair that licked at her face.  When Katniss considered cutting her hair to a more practical length several years ago, Peeta had become fiercely adamant, which he did about very few things, that she not cut it short.   As if to reinforce the absolute necessity of her hair to his existence, he limped to where she sat on the cozy loveseat near the fireplace and rebraided it for her, as he always did every day for more than 60 years of their lives together.

 

“Those are very rare.” He said as he worked carefully on her thick braid, wrapping the end with a deep green elastic hair-tie.

 

“More than rare.  When I was barely old enough to hold a bow, my father told me an old legend of the White Stag.” She put her feet up on the hearth to warm them after the chill of the woods.   Peeta brought two cups of the thick hot chocolate he’d had waiting for her return and sat next to her, resting after the effort of baking for this evening’s meal to celebrate the Winter Solstice.

 

“It was believed that the White Stag was a magical creature who had been alive since men began to hunt.  He is a kind of patron to those who live from the woods and hunters supposedly only saw the White Stag once in their lives, if ever.  He was impossible to catch so if you did see him, you were absolutely forbidden to hunt him, because he would cast a spell of bad luck that would never go away.”  She adjusted herself, careful not to spill her chocolate as she continued.  “So if you were lucky enough to see him, my father taught me that you must thank him for allowing himself to be seen.  For those hunters who showed the proper respect, legend said they were granted one true wish that was guaranteed to come true.  But the wish had to be a wish from the heart, from the very deepest desires.  Frivolous wishes were ignored.”  She paused thoughtfully before sipping the thick, rich liquid with relish.

 

“So, no wishing for unlimited chocolate or anything like that.”  Peeta teased.  She smiled as she put the confection to her lips again.  He knew of all the things she loved, a mug of his homemade hot chocolate was perhaps her greatest indulgence.

 

Her amused smile faded as Peeta set the mug on the hearth, the familiar nausea-inducing vertigo visibly overtaking him.  He straightened up slowly in his seat, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he did so.  Katniss’ face went pale as she grabbed his arm to help stabilize him.

 

“Is it hurting?” she said, the tremor in her voice made more pronounced by the anxiety that gripped her chest.

 

Peeta smiled, placing his hand, still so large and strong even after so many years, over her small one, causing her to relax her grip.  “No, it never hurts.” he told what they both knew was a lie. “ I just feel dizzy, that’s all.”  He relaxed his posture and leaned carefully onto the back of the loveseat.

 

Katniss and Peeta were over 80 years old, yet when she thought back to that black period of her past, when she had been forced to fight for her life and the lives of those she loved, the steady rage she felt towards the former Capitol for all that they had taken from them burned within her just as it had the day she heard of the destruction of District 12.  She had little cause to think about it in the latter years of her life, filled as her days were with the beautiful chaos of her children, their spouses, and the crowning jewels of her life, her four grandchildren.

 

But when Peeta began to suddenly lose his balance six months ago and the bouts of nausea became frequent and debilitating, her rage flared up like a conflagration.  Peeta was sick.  All the tracker jacker venom and the treatments used to break his mind had left the seed of illness in his body.  As soon as he was no longer strong enough to fight off the cancer, it sprouted, like a malevolent memory of the evil he had endured in his youth.  It started, fittingly, in his brain in the form of a tumor; inoperable and spreading like a web of vile weeds until it had penetrated his bone marrow.  Peeta had refused the treatments and the endless radiation. He didn’t want to be at the mercy of chemicals ravaging his body once again. Sure, they could prolong his life, but only enough to suffer a bit longer.  It had been a painful decision they’d made together, not informing any of the children of the situation.  

 

Now the signs of his body’s decline were showing more and more each day.  His eyes never ceased to be the same cerulean blue that no amount of peril or dark makeup could make dangerous.  His blond hair had thinned a bit and turned white but the dark circles around his eyes recalled the days years ago when he was still plagued by those terrible flashbacks.  His limp was more pronounced and he had lost weight.  It was in moments like these that Katniss confronted the very real truth that this time next year, her beloved husband, the man who had taught her to hope and love again, would no longer be with her.

 

Her hands began to shake but she would not burden him with her grief.  The pain of her husband’s illness was a floodgate best opened in the lonely solitude of her woods.  Instead, she got up as quickly as her creaky bones would allow and walked to the small drawer that held his medicines.

 

“No, Katniss, please.” he begged tiredly.  “They just make me foggy.  I want to be alert.”

 

Katniss stared at the bottle for a moment then set it back down gently in the drawer.  Sometimes she cursed her hunter’s instinct.  Just as she could sense the presence of a living creature when she hunted, so could she also sense weakness and injury.  And in Peeta she perceived the slow withering of his energies.  His illness was a sore in her heart, the deep wound spreading throughout his body and it was all she could do to not scream in rage and desperation.  She had not had a depressive episode in more than twenty years but she’d been fighting against the black abyss every day of these last six months.   _It won’t be long now,_ is what her heart told her with every pounding beat.  She was so focused on containing the outward evidence of her impending loss that she did not feel him near her until he wrapped his arms around her.

 

“It’s going to be okay.  You’ll see.  All journeys must come to an end.”

 

She turned in his arms and held onto him as fiercely as her frail arms would allow.

 

**XXXXX**

 

The Festival of the Winter Solstice was a revival of an old tradition from the Dark Days.  In the ancient period of North America, before the catastrophe that had threatened all life on this fragile continent, the festival had been known as Christmas, based on the very real belief of the birth of a Messiah, or Savior who would save humanity from their sins.  This belief then morphed into the festival that was to be celebrated that evening.  The Winter Solstice was the longest night of the year and after the fall of the Capitol, the festival was brought back into widespread use by the oldest citizens, the memory keepers of the Districts.  It was not dissimilar to the Harvest Festival in that there was a gathering of friends and relatives to dine and share music or stories together.  Then, at midnight, each member shared a gift with one other member of the group, usually by prearrangement.

 

Rose, Katniss’ oldest daughter, had decided when she was nine years old, that the family should hold a kind of lottery during the Harvest Festival meal in which everyone’s name went into a hat and each family member chose a slip of paper.  They would then be responsible for providing a gift to the person on the paper during the Festival of the Winter Solstice.  This tradition had continued and became entrenched because Rose was a natural born leader, the matriarch-apparent in the family.  Finnick, Katniss’ and Peeta’s middle son, was notorious for trying to slip his name into the hat twice, much to the chagrin of the twins, Pearl and Bow, who even as adults were the targets of their older brother’s mischief.

 

This year, Peeta insisted that they host the dinner, despite his illness.  Katniss managed to compromise with him and make it a pot-luck instead of cooking the entire meal themselves.  Rose, being Rose, was the first to arrive with her husband, Pyrus, and their two children.  Rose was her father’s daughter in everything - even tempered, well-spoken and gregarious.  She was also a gifted writer who worked for the local newspaper though the twins were the true visual artists. Her boys, Alder and Peeta (or as he was fondly referred to as Little Peeta) were young men already and had inherited their mother’s incredibly deep blue eyes and her tendency to talk.  None of Katniss offspring had ever suffered from hunger, disease or violence so they all towered over Katniss and even Little Peeta was just slightly taller than his namesake.

 

“Mom!” Rose called out as she made her way to the kitchen where Katniss was working quietly so as not to disturb Peeta who’d dozed off on the loveseat.  She hugged her mother before surveying the kitchen, clearly in her organizing mode.

 

“Where’s dad?” she asked as she put on her apron.  

 

Katniss cocked her head in the direction of her husband, napping peacefully. “Making the bread wore him out.” said Katniss.

 

Rose nodded.  She chatted in a low voice, telling Katniss about school - Alder would soon be leaving for District 4 to study medicine now that he was graduating from secondary school - all the while following her mother’s quiet indications for setting up the buffet counter.  As Rose rummaged through the drawers, she came upon the large pills that Katniss had been handling only an hour earlier.  Her brow furrowed upon reading the label.

 

“Ma.  Why do you have Percissone?  These are some serious painkillers.” she said.

 

Katniss continued working quietly and compulsively, unsure of how to answer her.  Rose came up next to Katniss and stopped her fluttering hands.  “Mama.  Please.  Are these dad’s?” she asked quietly.  Katniss’ head jerked up in surprise, a look of pain landing like a slap on her features as her eyes darted quickly to where Peeta slept.

 

Rose looked at her mother sadly.  “We all know.  You won’t say anything but you’re not keeping any secrets.  You can tell a mile away that dad isn’t doing well.”  Tears began to stream unbidden down Katniss’ lined face and she wiped them furiously away with the back of her hand.  Time hadn’t softened her fierce pride, even in the presence of her children.  But Rose had never really understood her mother’s lethality, even when she studied about the Hunger Games in school.  She’d never reconciled the image of the Mockingjay, the face of the Revolution with the image she carried within her of her very overprotective and doting mother and consequently pulled her fearlessly into her arms, unintimidated by Katniss’ efforts to remain stoic.

 

“Finnick, Pearl and Bow will be here soon.” said Rose firmly.

 

“No, Rose, he didn’t want you all to know…” whispered Katniss fiercely.

 

Rose smiled sadly.  “Well, that cat is out of the bag.  Finnick and Pearl are doctors, for goodness sake!  Don’t you think they can find things out? Who did you think you were fooling?”

 

Katniss drew herself up to her height.  “Fine.  But he mustn’t know you know.  Understood?  This is his…” she did not want to say _his last wish_ , couldn’t bring her mouth to form the words. “..this is what he wants.  And we have to respect that.”  

 

Rose nodded her head.  “I understand.” she said, cradling her mother’s hand in hers.

 

**XXXXX**

 

“How is he?” asked Finnick, rubbing his hands distractedly over the heat of the fire.

 

Rose leaned, arms crossed, against the wall near the fireplace, taking advantage of their momentary solitude while their parents went to their room to get changed.  “From what mom told me, it’s pretty advanced.  He’s declined treatment – no chemo, no drugs, nothing.”  She took a deep, tremulous breath, shaking her head.  “You could just tell that the last month he’s gotten so much worse.”

 

Finnick clenched and unclenched his hands, the fires reflecting off of the fine dust of gold hairs on his hands.  Though he was the spitting image of his father, his grey eyes and character were his mother’s. He enjoyed solitude and even though he was a doctor, he could spend hours in the woods, hunting as his mother had taught him, in the company of himself.  And he did not show his emotions easily but his sister knew him.  He was angry and heartbroken.

 

“Why would they keep something like this from us?”  Finnick exclaimed desperately.

 

Rose shrugged.  “I don’t think they meant to hurt us.  You know how it is.  It’s always been them versus the world.”  She shook her head.  “Dad doesn’t want us to suffer either, since we can’t do anything about it.  And for his own sake, he doesn’t want to be treated like an invalid.  He just wants to live normally until the end.”

 

“It’s damned selfish of both of them.” He groused miserably.

 

Rose leaned her head into the wall, disrupting the flawless hairs of her dark braid.  “No, Finn, it’s not selfish.  It’s their way of sparing us.”  She kicked an imaginary spot on the hardwood floor.  “In their own strange way, they are still trying to protect us.”

 

**XXXXX**

 

“You will never beat me at chess.  It’s just not going to happen.” laughed Peeta at Bow’s failed efforts to upset her father’s winning streak.  He cocked his head over at a framed picture of Haymitch.  “I trained with the best.”

 

“Yeah, he was good at strategy, that one.” said Katniss, still a little resentful towards their mentor after all these years.  She reclined on the soft pillows of the armchair in which Peeta sat.

 

Bow stretched out to kiss her father’s forehead, her blond hair brushing against his cheek.  Her hair was so like that of Prim’s that Katniss had spent a good part of the girl’s youth toying with it.  “I’m going to try my luck at cards with the kids instead.  It’ll boost my self-esteem.” she laughed as she wandered off to find her daughter and her niece and nephews.

 

When she was out of earshot, Katniss brought her lips down to say something to Peeta but he interrupted her.  “I’m fine.  You’ve asked me twenty times tonight if I’m okay.” He chuckled at her.  

 

Katniss scowled in response.  He put his shaky hand over hers.  “You worry too much.”

“You hardly ate.” she accused.

 

“I wasn’t hungry.  Are you trying to fatten me up?” he teased, his impish blue eyes twinkling in his somewhat haggard face.

 

Instead of laughing at him, she sighed mournfully.  He lost the gleam of humor and squeezed her hand gently.  “Don’t do that.  Don’t you dare go mourning me before I’m gone.  I’m still here.” He looked out at the scene in the living room.  The Christmas tree that Pearl and her husband Victor had brought and decorated for them stood like a sentinel over the family, covered in elegant silver balls and fine, white lights.  Finnick was leaning against his fiancé, Leah’s shoulder on the sofa while she chatted quietly with Rose.  Bow was dealing cards at the table to Rose’s boys, Alder and Peeta and Pearl’s daughter, Raven. Her own daughter, Vivian, and her father, Theo, picked companionably at the desserts while Pyrus was attempting to adjust a bulb that had given out near the top of the evergreen.

 

“Look at what we created.” Peeta leaned his forehead tiredly against Katniss’ arm, feeling warm and clammy.

 

“You feel like you have a fever.” She whispered fiercely.

 

“I do.  I have a fever for you and I can’t do anything about it.  Now _that’s_ something to be sad about.” He chuckled at this and she couldn’t help but smile.  “I’d take you in the back room right now if I could.”

 

Katniss shook her head.  “For shame.  Here you are, with one foot in the grave and all you can think about is that you can’t get it up?”

 

Peeta laughed heartily at this until he was breathless. They sat together for a while, listening to the holiday music meandering through the air over Free-Panem Radio.  Suddenly, Peeta whispered quietly, “Katniss, take me to our room.  I’m tired.”

 

“Okay.” She said, easing him out of his chair.  Upon seeing that he was going to retire to bed, everyone crowded around Peeta and Katniss to wish them a happy holiday and a good night.  Katniss handed Peeta his cane and watched him fairly glow with the attention from his children and grandchildren.  It was everything he’d wanted after fighting tooth and nail just to survive and it was more than anyone could’ve hoped to have in one lifetime.  Peeta had promised her that he would give her the best possible life a woman could dream of and he’d kept every single one of the promises he’d made to her over the years.  It had been hard going sometimes but it had also been good, so very good and he glowed with the bounty of love that he had sowed.

 

Rose waited till everyone had dispersed to wish her father a good night. She held him firmly to her, showering him with kisses.  “Daddy…” she whispered.

 

“No, none of that now, okay?” he kissed her nose, holding her gaze with a calm intensity.  “You’re the oldest one.  Take care of your brother and sisters for me, okay.”

 

“Don’t talk like that!” she reprimanded him, gripping him tightly to her again. A stray tear defied her as it ran down her cheek.       “You’re the best father any of us could have asked for.” She released him, taking a deep breath and shaking herself as if to clear the heavy clouds away.  “Mom, we’ll clean up out here. You both rest, okay?”  Katniss nodded as Rose kissed her goodnight.  She slowly led Peeta to their room. Rose watched them quietly as they disappeared into the soft light of the corridor.

 

**XXXXX**

 

Katniss and Peeta shuffled to the study that they’d converted to a bedroom when Peeta first became ill.  He painted in the small room adjacent to it, a room that had never seen much use before.  However, most of his paintings were in his original studio and on days when he felt stronger, he would trudge upstairs to look at the overwhelming number of images he had produced over the years, walking through the gallery of his memories.  

 

They washed up quietly and dressed in thick, flannel pajamas.  Peeta had become sensitive to the cold in these last few months though he still insisted on leaving the window just slightly ajar.  Tonight, the light of the half-moon shined down into the room, illuminating their bed like a spotlight. Katniss removed his prosthetic and propped it up near the bed, lying down next to him.  She was tired from the exertion of checking her snares, the dinner and the ever present anxiety that hovered like a closed fist clutched tightly in the middle of her chest.  Peeta was particularly tired this evening and she wanted to scold him for trying to bake when he should have been resting as much as possible but she knew it would do no good so she held onto him instead.  She was sure he’d fallen asleep when his voice startled her.

 

“Katniss.” He whispered

 

“Hmmm?” she answered, trying to feign sleepy nonchalance when inside her stomach was in revolt.

 

“Are you sleeping?” he asked weakly.

 

She put her head up to look at him.  He had a dreamy look in his eyes, the moonlight lighting up the flecks in his blue irises like starbursts.  “No, I’m not.”  She ran her hand over his warm forehead, worrying at the heat he seemed to radiate.

 

“You know I love you, right?”

 

Katniss felt her heart fracture along the old fault lines of her grief.  “How could I ever doubt it?  You know I love you too, right?”

 

He chuckled weakly.  “I know.  It’s been good.”  he paused.  “I’ve had everything I ever wanted with you.  I just... you need to know that.”

 

She pinched her lip to keep a sob from breaking through.  “Me too.  Everything and so much more.”

 

He nodded at this and remained quiet for a moment before speaking again.  “Will you sing for me?”

 

“Of course.” She whispered, pushing down her dread.  Old age had rendered her voice raspy and worn but it still had the melodic timbre of her youth:

_This is my winter song to you_

_The storm is coming soon_

_It rolls in from the sea_

_My voice, a beacon in the night_

_My words will be your light_

_To carry you to me_

_Is love alive?_

_Is love alive?_

_Is love... (pause)_

 

She watched him as he sank into his slumber, a half smile dancing on his lips.  She continued to sing, brushing the silver hair from his forehead and watching, watching as if her vigil would keep him with her a bit longer.  His breath became ever more shallow, the muscles in his face relaxing, the wrinkles smoothed out.

_This is my winter song_

_December never felt so wrong_

_Cause you're not where you belong_

_Inside my arms_

_I still believe in summer days_

_The seasons always change_

_And life will find a way_

_I'll be your harvester of light_

_And send it out tonight_

_So we can start again_

 

She stared at him for a long time before placing her hands on his chest.  The thing that she had sensed in him, the spreading pitch of emptiness, had completely engulfed him and she was at the edge of darkness, ready to fall into it with him. Strangely, the onrush of grief was not sudden.  She thought back to another time when she had also touched him and felt his still heart.  In the arena, when Peeta hit the force field, Finnick Odair, their son’s namesake, had saved him that time and gotten his heart to beat again.

 

Remembering the joy of his revival brought on the tidal wave and Katniss began to cry.  She cried for Peeta’s goodness and loyalty.  She cried for his torture and pain.  She cried for the children and grandchildren who would think of his kindness and generosity, the patient way he had with them and miss him.  But mostly, she cried for herself, for the sudden void of time that opened up before her. She searched the air for something to hold onto until she found herself on her knees besides him and, bringing her head down to his, murmured quietly in his ear.  She remained in this attitude for what seemed like eternity.  It didn’t matter to her.  Time had ceased to matter to her.

 

A slight crackling of frost outside the window caught her attention, drawing her to the frame as she leaned her throbbing head against it.  In a pool of soft moonlight, under the bow of a giant evergreen tree, stood the white stag she had seen earlier that day.  He was as tall as a man, full of the pride of a creature that had seen life rise and fall for countless eons, watched fear like a tsunami drown mere mortals only to buoy them up into eternity.  Katniss did not know all of this. She only knew that she would not have to dig very deeply into her heart to find her greatest desire.  The terror and sadness that had plagued her during these last months dissipated like heavy iron shackles that had suddenly fallen away.    

 

“Thank you.” She whispered, with an irrational sense of peace.

 

The stag made a motion with his heavily antlered head, as if to nod in approval before leaping into the darkness and disappearing into the night.

 

She reclined next to the still body of her husband and thought of all the things he represented to her – her dandelion in spring, the warm loaf of burnt bread in the rain, unconditional love - and breathed him in one more time, smelling paint and cinnamon and comfort.  As if a spell had been cast on her, she felt herself sink into the deepest, most peaceful sleep of her life, her breathing slowing inexorably against Peeta’s shoulder.

 

The first thing she felt when she came out of her slumber was his strong warm arm around her. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she was somewhat confused to find the room illuminated with sunlight, the warm breeze of spring whispering against the gauzy curtain of the open window.  Winter was just a memory as she sat completely up.  She was not wearing her heavy flannel gown but a thin gossamer shift that looked like it had been spun from individual threads of trembling sunlight.  Her exposed arms were not the wrinkled, scarred arms she had grown accustomed to but the smooth olive skin of her youth.  

 

She looked over at Peeta to see him staring at her with those eyes that she had never in her mortal life ever seen on anyone else. It thrilled her to watch his features soften and change, so filled out and young, young like when he mounted the stage during the first Reaping.  Her eyes ran down the length of his torso to his legs, the signs of his torture and the shadows of flames from that long ago day eradicated from his body.  He was clad in the same textured light and nothing was missing. He was whole and perfect and complete.

 

This state of affairs did not shock her as it should.  It was as it should have been, so incredibly _right_ that she was instead filled with gratitude and joy.  The anxiety and fear that always lived in her heart seemed to have been scooped out and cast away and she felt a sense of complete well-being that she had only ever felt when she was very young and her father was still alive. There were others here, she heard their gentle voices calling to her.  She longed to see the host of people who had populated her heart all these long years – her father, Prim, her mother, Gale, Haymitch, Effie, Johanna , Rue, Finnick -  but here was the one for whom she had always longed, in the perfection of his youth, the way he should have been before the evil of their mortal world had taken it from him.

 

“Hi.” she said, drinking in the solid virility of his appearance, as she had done so many times in their lives together.

 

“Hi.” He smiled.  “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” He ran his hands over her smooth cheek and laced his fingers in her thick, ebony hair before pulling her down to kiss him, a kiss that called to mind those endless kisses when they were young and learning to love.

 

Losing herself in him, she responded, her grey eyes lighting up like a beacon, “Well, I didn’t ask for unlimited chocolate, you know.”

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to SolasVioletta for working so hard on editing this story even though she was swamped in this period. She also recommended this lovely song. You are so very dear to me. To Marquise des Anges who is a far better beta than she gives herself credit for. Your suggestions and support were invaluable!


End file.
